Falling gracefully
By Lynne Mattern Mitchell

As a freshman at Ohio University in 1965, I was taught one of the most useful lessons of my life. We were required to take a year of physical education. After struggling through a quarter learning I wasn’t cut out to chase a ball around a tennis court, I decided to take a subject I was already capable at — ice skating.

There in the hockey arena I was taught an applicable “life lesson.” The first area the instructor had us master was how to fall in a manner that yielded the fewest number of bruises. We spent a week learning to let our bodies go, to give in to the fall in a slow, graceful manner. Relaxing our knees and letting our padded derrieres take the impact became part of our drill. I became quite good at this intentional falling.

If that instructor only knew how profoundly he was impacting my life!

Three days after I finished my schooling at OU in December 1968, I began to have that feeling that my feet were “going to sleep.” These tingles crept up my body, and in February 1969 I was diagnosed as having multiple sclerosis. In the years to follow, I went from an occasional stumble to the classic “falling flat on your face.”

I was either “in denial” or felt “ignorance is bliss” when I first started tumbling into the clothing racks at stores. Though I smiled weakly and muttered apologies, I was often greeted with frowns and eyes that read “look at the drunk.” I got the hint that I needed assistance when I fell into a stack of canned tomatoes; the disgusted call for “Clean up in Aisle 4” over the store intercom sent me home in tears.

When I gave in to using a cane, I was delighted that the same people who condemned me for being a drunk now opened doors and carried bags for me. As my need for canes grew so did my desire to get rid of that “ugly, old-looking brown stick.” Thus, my husband and I developed a process to create beautiful canes that matched each outfit. Our canes have a waterproof coating that withstands dropping; we even developed a means of identification that usually results in having an abandoned cane returned to the owner. Though I am now in a wheelchair, I still carry a coordinating cane; it solicits smiles and starts conversations.

In order to make good use of my frequent times on the floor, I have learned that “while you are down, see what else you can do.” The shoes in my closet are now alphabetized (sandals come before sneakers), and I know that cereal crumbs collect on the floor under the counter.

I use the falling techniques I learned at OU every day. Giving into the fall and landing on my derriere helps me avoid the emergency room and keeps my arms a solid color and my head free of stitches. Thank you, PE instructor of 8 a.m. ice skating, 1966, for teaching me a life-saving lesson.

Lynne Mattern Mitchell, BSED ’69, finished her education after student teaching at Putnam Elementary in the fall of 1968. She taught in Cadiz and Upper Arlington, Ohio, and later earned a master’s degree at Auburn University. She and her husband, John, reside in Boca Raton, Fla. She no longer teaches because of health reasons, but she spends time speaking publicly about living a fulfilling life despite chronic illness. The Mitchells have two sons, Kyle, who works for an Internet company in Fort Lauderdale, and Todd, a senior at Cedarville (Ohio) University.